


Cut Short

by Coymoonrising



Series: Remus Lupin Drabbles [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Remadora, mention of wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coymoonrising/pseuds/Coymoonrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Remus is forced to get an undercut after a Death Eater's fireball barely misses his head, he doesn't think twice. Hair grows back, after all. But what he doesn't realize is that even if he doesn't react to his new look, the people around him certainly will.<br/>Remadora with hints of Wolfstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut Short

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by spellfire01 of tumblr! Go check out their art!

Remus sighed at he stared at his reflection in the mirror at Number 12. Long, slender fingers emerged from sweater sleeves that were only slightly tattered on the edges to scratch at the back of his neck and grace his scalp. He sighed. Were it not for the poor aim of a Death Eater, he would be dead. But as dry bits of hair crackled and fell away with the residual smell of smoke, Remus wondered: he had his life, but at what cost?  
  
It wasn't that his hair was important to Remus, not exactly. It wasn't his defining feature, nor was it particularly 'nice,' by any standard. But it was—well, it was _good_. It was thick and still only beginning to turn grey at his temples, right where his father's had. Remus never considered himself attractive. Maybe good looking on the right day, but the early signs of crows feet and all the scars crisscrossing his battered body were all too pleased to remind him otherwise. His hair was one thing that Remus had never really worried about before. He wore it the way he liked it, and that was that. He _liked_ it. But it had been brutally slain by the fireball that barely kissed his skin, and everything near the nape from the top of his ears bore the scars of severe fire damage.  
  
So did his clothes. But they were faster to replace. Hair? Not so much.  
  
Remus frowned. He sounded like he was a schoolboy again, wailing over a botched haircut at his mother's insistence. He hadn't been a boy for quite some years and he swallowed the rest of his complaints with a determined move of his Adam's Apple, bringing his wand to bear and levitating another mirror behind his head. This one was smaller, with a long handle beneath. He could barely see what he was doing through the tiny, round display, but Remus had already decided on what he was going to do. It wouldn't require delicacy.  
  
Pursing his lips, the werewolf plucked a small pair of scissors from the marble counter top and made the first cut.

 

* * *

  
The next morning was something of a shock. Remus rose as usual in the morning, and had nearly forgotten the fiasco altogether until he stepped into the loo and spotted himself in that same mirror. He cursed under his breath, chuckling at his own absurdity even as he withdrew his hands from their search for his wand—which had been left on his bedside stand, and would have been of no use if the man in the mirror had been a real intruder. Nonetheless, his new haircut drew his attention repeatedly over the course of his morning routine and Remus hoped it would not be that way for the rest of the Order at the meeting today. But, he didn't hold his breath.  
  
This would be interesting.  
  
The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended, making it down into the still-quiet kitchen just in time to get something small to eat before the table would be flooded with opinions and grim stares. Remus hoped he was alone, but as he took the final step and glanced across the room it was made clear that though there no chairs taken, that was not the case.  
  
"G'morning, Padfoot," Remus yawned, shuffling to the fireplace where a large black dog was curled up beside the flames.  
  
Padfoot's tail gave an unconscious wag and Remus suppressed a laugh. But when the dog finally opened his eyes, there was a loud bark that was quickly followed by a very human voice.  
  
"Moony, what in Merlin's name did you _do_?" It sounded like an accusation.  
  
"Nothing, Sirius, it's just a haircut."  
  
"And I'm just a Slytherin," said Sirius, walking circles around the other man to get a damn good look.  
  
But with every step, Sirius' indignation changed. His surprise had sent his brows dipping sharply, but they slowly began to rise until they were arched. His chapped lips hung open, but they curled upwards until Sirius was grinning like a loon. Another bark pierced the silence, but this time it was nothing but a delighted laugh.  
  
"Moony," Sirius breathed. "You look— _good!_ " He ran his hands across the back of Remus' head before he could object. Where once was inches of fluffy brown, there was now a soft layer of fuzz just long enough for it to part for Sirius' fingers. "What made you decide to go for an undercut?"  
  
Remus helped himself to a glass of orange juice as he recounted his tale of near-death at the hands of the enemy. "It was either this or walking around looking like a singed cat."  
  
"Or a singed werewolf," Sirius replied with a smirk—one which Remus would not give him the pleasure of responding to. "Moony, you really look good. And it makes you look younger," he added.  
  
"Did I look older?" Remus asked, only slightly concerned.  
  
Sirius paused, looking like he was cycling through a list of responses in his mind that might save him from a poor choice. "You look like you always do," he tried. "And you always look good to me."  
  
Remus made a noncommittal noise, glancing sideways at his best mate under a smart brow. Sirius grinned again.  
  
"Wait til Tonks sees you," he said, and Remus choked on his juice.  
  
"Is it really such a big to-do?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know about to do. More like, _would_ do."  
  
Remus rolled his eyes. "Wonderful."  
  
Something in Sirius seemed to change then, and he suddenly quieted down. He busied himself making several slices of toast and jam for the pair of them to have something productive to do while he thought everything over. Remus remained equally as quiet, reading the Prophet to the sounds of a butter knife scraping across dry bread and the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock.

  
"You know," Sirius said slowly, returning to sit beside Remus with his plate of goods, "I think she fancies you."  
  
"You know," Remus replied curtly without looking up, "I wish she wouldn't. She's your cousin, Sirius."  
  
"I don't care about that, Moons," Sirius said with a shrug. "I just want you to be happy. And I see the way you look at her, too."  
  
Now Remus did look up. "What is it you see, exactly?" he said with a frown.  
  
"You look at her like you used to look at me."  
  
If Remus had wanted to swallow, he couldn't. Everything stiffened, and his insides turned cold. In that moment he felt one hundred years older, and a lifetime of mourning still tender to the touch was brought back up from the bottom of the well. He had wondered what his relationship with Sirius would become now that he was a 'free' man. There had been a few awkward conversations, some drunken nights spent in cheerful remembrance, and even time as Moony and Padfoot once again to allow for healing. But it was clear that whatever they had had was lost in the past, buried with James and Lily Potter.  
  
Sirius held himself still. He must have picked up on Remus' feelings, because he spoke softly. "I know we're not a thing anymore, and that's okay. But tell me they weren't some of the happiest times we had?"  
  
Remus gave a cautious nod and took a deep sigh.  
  
"You keep yourself so far away from everyone, Moony. I just think maybe Dora would make you happy."  
  
"Tonks deserves to be happy as well," said Remus. "And I am not the man who can make that happen."  
  
Sirius gave him a look. "And why not?"  
  
"Because I can't provide for her, for one," Remus replied. His tone was cold and bitter. "I am fourteen years her senior, and I would be nothing but a burden to her."  
  
"How would you be a burden? You haven't stopped working since we left school, and I don't mean employment. You try harder than anyone to keep things running."  
  
"Sirius," Remus said seriously, "it should be obvious. She wants something that I can never give her."  
  
"She doesn't want anything from you, Remus," Padfoot replied, and Remus hated how much empathy he saw in the other man's eyes. "She wants to make you happy."  
  
Remus only sighed. "You of all people should know what comes with being with me. You help me after full moon because you are my friend. My best friend. And you are an Animagus. The moons are only getting worse as I get older. I still cannot find reliable work outside the Order and Dumbledore's protection. I can't provide for her financially, and I won't have her taking care of me when I should be the one taking care of her!"  
  
"But you do want to take care of her," Sirius shot with a knowing glance that made Remus want to smack it off of his face.  
  
"... and so I informed them that I—oh." Mr. Weasley descended the staircase into the basement kitchen and stopped abruptly once he spotted them. "Am I interrupting something?"  
  
"Not at all, Arthur," Sirius said at once, relaxing back against his chair indicating for him and his companions to join them at the table. With one last glance towards Remus, he slid the untouched plate of toast to their end of the table. "Is anyone hungry?"  
  
Arthur shook his head. "I couldn't. Just had a bit of tea before stopping by," he explained with an apologetic smile.  
  
"I could," followed the wheezy voice of Elphias Dodge. "I haven't had anything to eat since I went out on patrol with Sturgis."  
  
"I warned you, you ought to pack something," said a man with thick, straw-colored hair. The shoulders of his cloak were damp with September rain, and he shrugged it off to dry it with his wand before hanging it up, muttering, "Moaning all night about your belly..."  
  
"You fed your extra bread to the owl!" Elphias retorted desperately, seizing a piece of toast and muttering thanks to Sirius who could only offer a half-concealed grin in return.  
  
Each man took his seat around the table and the hum of conversation had soon filled the kitchen. Arthur took a seat nearest Remus and Sirius, removing his horn-rimmed glasses with a sigh and rubbing his temples.  
  
"Rough morning?" Remus asked him.  
  
"What? Oh—no," Arthur replied with a small sigh. "I just had a bit of trouble sleeping. The news I've been hearing coming out of Hogwarts has me worried about the children. You've heard who their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is?"  
  
"No," said Sirius. "But term only began two days ago—is it that bad?"  
  
"They haven't had a decent professor in some time—other than you, I mean, Remus," he added quickly, and Remus shook his head. He knew Arthur meant well. "But a few days ago, I saw an article in the Prophet that just makes everything worse: Fudge passed another one of his Educational Decrees—Dumbledore hadn't selected a new teacher yet, and the Ministry went ahead and appointed one."  
  
Sirius and Remus exchanged dark looks, and Arthur nodded gravely.  
  
"It's Umbridge," he breathed, and both men paled.  
  
"The one from the hearing?" Sirius balked.  
  
"The very same."  
  
Sirius heard Remus curse under his breath, so nobody else would hear.  
  
"Dumbledore was right," Remus said, louder this time. "Fudge thinks that there's something going on at Hogwarts."  
  
"What could he possibly think is going on at Hogwarts? Why send someone from the Improper Use of Magic Office?"  
  
"I doubt she works there anymore," Sirius noted. "Not if she's acting as Fudge's right hand. With the headlines about Dumbledore and Harry, I wouldn't be surprised if Fudge fully believed they were breeding illegal dragons for fun in the dungeons."  
  
"It's not that," Remus thought aloud, drawing the others' eyes. "With the way Fudge fears Dumbledore, with the way he fears Voldemort's return, Fudge's power is in question more right now than it has been since he took office. The Minister is afraid, and we know that fear blinds people, leads them to do terrible things without thinking. Hogwarts is legendary. It is full of ancient mysteries, secrets... Perhaps Fudge thinks there is something there that might tip the balance of power."  
  
"It makes sense," Sirius agreed. "There might be loads of hidden secrets only the Headmaster would know. And if I were looking to control the wizarding world, I would start there, too."  
  
But Arthur's face darkened, his quizzical look turning deathly serious. "No. Fudge is in a position to believe anything, that's true. But he can't waste time on myth. It's something more immediate, whatever he wants."  
  
"Loyalty," came a fourth voice. Albus Dumbledore descended the stairs, waving the others to remain sitting when they immediately jumped to their feet. "The Minister wants nothing so grand," he said, making his way to the table and taking a seat at it's head. "Cornelius believes that I am building an army out of students, in an attempt to overthrow him and claim the position as Minister for myself."  
  
"That's barking," said Sirius.  
  
Arthur leaned forward in his chair. "People have been asking you to become Minister of Magic for years. If you wanted Fudge's office, you would already have it!"  
  
"You are correct," Dumbledore nodded. "But Fudge is no longer capable of determining that for himself. He believes that—"  
  
" _Mudblood filth! Stain of dishonor on the family tree, half-blood mongrel! Wretched, vile, undesirable—_!"  
  
"That'll be Tonks," Remus deduced, quickly rising from his chair to put the portrait of Walburga back to sleep.  
  
"That umbrella stand," Arthur agreed, his own chair screeching across the floor as he made to follow.  
  
"Hold on, Arthur," Sirius said quickly, making both men pause. "I meant to ask you something, before I forget. Would you mind, Remus?"  
  
Sirius didn't have to smile with his lips for Remus to catch it in his eyes. The sneaky bastard. Remus chewed his inner cheek. "No," he relented. "I don't mind. I'll take this one, Arthur."  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded, sitting once again without any sign that he understood or even caught what he had unknowingly witnessed. Remus didn't say long enough to hear whatever it was Sirius had thought up on the spot to ask.  
  
The moth-eaten curtains that hid the portrait had blown apart and billowed wildly as if caught in the force of a storm. Beneath them, a collection of scattered umbrellas lay across the floor and a young figure with bright pink hair was trying desperately to pick them up with one hand, while the other covered her ears. Remus darted forward, first trying to drag the curtains closed as the yellow-skinned woman within the painting tried to scratch through her canvas. Her eyes swiveled in their sockets to find his as he approached.  
  
" _Half-breed monster! Wretched beast! Nothing but a dog, a wild animal! How dare you defile the house of my fathers!_ "  
  
Remus let out a groan of frustration, yanking one last time on the curtains to no avail. He snatched up his wand from his belt loop, pointed it at the floor, and with a stern flick of his wrist each of the umbrellas returned to the stand one by one. Tonks looked up from the floor as one was tugged from her grip, and Remus wordlessly pointed to the portrait. Together, they heaved the tattered curtains over the face of Walburga Black and drove her into silence once more.  
  
"...Wotcher," Tonks breathed with the effort. She had turned, staring at the umbrella stand as though it had a personal vendetta against her. "It's not even cute," she added. "Thanks, though. Am I late?"  
  
"No," Remus replied. He returned his wand to his belt with a sigh. Each time he encountered Walburga's portrait, he wondered how much like her it really was. It made him think of Sirius, stuck here on Dumbledore's orders with the ghost of his past no less hateful than the original. He frowned. "No, you're not late. Arthur is here, and Dumbledore, and a few others. No sign of Moody yet, although that hardly—what?"  
  
Tonks had finally looked at him for more than a moment's passing, and as she did so her eyes had widened into moons.  
  
"What is it?" Remus asked again. His neck began to burn, along with his ears, and he unconsciously sent a hand to search the nape of his neck. "Oh, is it—it's not my haircut, is it?"  
  
Tonks' lips exploded into a toothy smile, but her tone dripped with envy. "I can't even get mine to look that good," she said, and Remus watched as her pink bob melted into the form of a punk rock undercut. Her face was rounder than his, though, and as she took a small compact out of her pocket to check herself over she frowned. Her finger pointed in circles at him as she spoke. "How did you do that?"  
  
"Electric razor," Remus shrugged. Was this really so interesting?  
  
"Ah," she said. "A Muggle thing. Maybe I should give that a try. What do you thi—?"  
  
She stumbled over his toes as she turned too quick, and he caught her by her robes. "I think," he said with a smile, "that some experience is required."  
  
She huffed at him, her eyes lit with playful fire. "I must be a bad influence on you. You know how fond Sirius is of his locks, so it wasn't him. But I never thought you were the undercut type."  
  
"You would be surprised by a lot of things, I suspect." Tonks simply smiled up at him, and after a moment Remus felt he needed to ask: "Are you alright?"  
  
"Turn around, would you?" she responded in that was barely a whisper.  
  
Remus cocked her a brow. "Why?"  
  
Tonks blushed. "This is where—" she pointed to where he had cut his hair with a wide, circular motion — "that Death Eater almost got you. That's why you cut it, right? I just—want to check you over. We can't lose you. You are too important to the Order!"  
  
Remus did as she asked, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "And you are not?"  
  
"Not like you," she said, holding her arms to her chest and visibly fighting some deeper desire. Her eyes scanned him as he turned. "You don't knock umbrella stands over every time you walk through the door."  
  
"I'm not an Auror, either," Remus said. "I don't do nearly as much as you do."  
  
Tonks didn't respond right away. "Can I—," she tried, but then thought better of it.  
  
Remus faced her again. "Is this still about my hair?"  
  
Tonks let out an exacerbated laugh. "Well Merlin's beard, Remus, do you even realize what this is doing to people?"  
  
"Well, it certainly has had an affect on you."  
  
Tonks went violently pink and for a moment she was the same color as her hair, which fluffed up and lengthened out back into her usual style. "What's that supposed to mean, Lupin?" she said forcefully, only pretending to be offended.  
  
"Nothing at all, Nymphadora," Remus teased, watching her newly regrown hair turn orange in annoyance, and then back to pink. "Only you and Sirius have had anything to say about it, you see."  
  
"Oh, we'll see about that," she said with a cheeky grin. "Come on, though: we've got a meeting to attend. Woe on us if Mad-Eye walks through the door and sees us. _Constant vigilance_!"

* * *

  
  
The meeting was grim, as was to be expected. But what none of them expected was how fast things had gotten dark. Remus sat straight-backed in his chair, and though his body was present at the table his mind was only half there.  
  
"Last time," someone would begin, and Remus would think it again: last time, there was time to mount a defense. Last time, there was room to breathe before the maelstrom took everyone they loved. Last time—last time wasn't like this. It should not have been happening like this. There was no time, this time. And there were fewer places to go. With no Ministry backing and the public too scared to step into the open and grab the Prophet off their doorstep, there was a severe shortage of willing bodies in the fight to restore order.  
  
But that did not mean the fight was over. There were still ways to undo the damage done. Though, the cost was...  
  
"Remus?"  
  
Remus blinked, pulled back into the present. Grimmauld place was dark once again, the kitchen empty and the candles stubs. One of his elbows was pressed painfully into a crack in the ancient table, though he hadn't noticed until her voice brought him back. His hands were driving their palms into his temples and he stopped to brush light brown hair from his eyes.  
  
"Tonks."  
  
She finished her descent into the basement kitchen with steps unusually soft, for her. Tonks, much like her hair, was—vibrant. She was a sun into herself, as cliche as that thought made Remus feel. But now there were clouds on the horizon. Her eyes searched him, and he let her. Under her gaze, Remus felt thirty-five going on fifty. But Sirius' words slipped through, and he did see it now: genuine affection, tenderness...  
  
Remus felt sick.  
  
Perhaps it showed on his face, for Tonks took each step with caution and planning. She offered him a loose stance, embodying nonchalance. "You okay?" she asked. "What did Dumbledore say?"  
  
"Nothing," he replied, feeling suddenly that the kitchen was much too small. "Just a question about something left over from my time at Hogwarts."  
  
"He held you back after the meeting to... ask about something from two years ago?"  
  
Remus swallowed. He was a better liar than this—what was he doing? "Yes, some—records. Professor Umbridge needs—"  
  
"Don't call her that," Tonks interrupted, and Remus was happy to bite his tongue. "She doesn't deserve that position, the toad. And you don't have to tell me what happened between you and Dumbledore, but don't think I don't know when you're lying about it, Lupin."  
  
Remus looked at her, pride slightly wounded.  
  
"Auror, yeah?" Tonks shrugged, pointing her thumbs at herself. "I get it if you don't want to talk. Just don't patronize me."  
  
"I wouldn't—" Remus desperately tried, and she crossed her arms expectantly. Her pink hair curled just around her ears, creating a corona around her eyes. "You misunderstand. Dumbledore has given me a mission to complete, and he wants it kept quiet. That's all."  
  
"Oh," Tonks murmured. "By yourself?" Her voice sounded hopeful. But when Remus nodded, her face dropped.  
  
Remus' expression as soon to follow. "It seems that once again I am ready-made for a task like this."  
  
Tonks took another long look at his face, her eyes widening as it all clicked. "Because you're a—"  
  
"Yes," Remus replied bitterly, looking away. He didn't think he could hear it from her lips. "I'm going away for a few months. There's a colony in the north, the largest one in the country..."  
  
"Remus," she breathed, coming over to where he sat and putting her hands on his shoulders. His lupine instinct was to back away immediately and she felt him flinch. But he did not recoil. Not knowing what else to do, Tonks used her thumbs and pressed into his shoulders, immediately discovering a whole host of knots in the muscles below his skin. Remus made a sound and Tonks hesitated, but when she leaned forward to check his face was scrunched, but calm. "Do you—do you mind?" she asked him. "You want me to stop?"  
  
He did want her to stop, but only insofar as a stray dog is unaccustomed to being pet. It felt— _good._ Really good. Remus felt his face grow warm as he realized that Tonks smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, and he listened to her bracelets clink on her wrists as she worked. He could hear her breathing, and the skin beneath his newly cut hair felt cold every time she exhaled. Every now and then, her fingers would slip and skin would contact skin. And her skin was so soft, so warm—not like his, rough and cold and chapped. He wanted her to stop so badly, but he wanted this more and he didn't know how to feel about that. He tried to say something, but when he opened his mouth the only thing that came out was a noise caught between a protest and a moan. Tonks busted out laughing.  
  
"I'll assume that's a 'no'," she smiled, and Remus thought he could hear it in her voice. He imagined her lips, pink like the sky in early spring. He imagined how soft they must be, and he imagined—  
  
Remus stiffened again as Tonks' hands slid from his shoulders, climbing their way to the back of his neck and into his hair. He inhaled sharply, but this time Tonks did not hesitate. "Oh," she observed with a pleasant tone Remus hadn't heard before, "I like this. It's so soft! I really should use that Muggle thing..."  
  
Remus didn't reply. He was fairly certain she was talking to herself. But doubt crept over him: right now, he wasn't certain about anything—anything, that is, outside the moment. Tonks' fingernails scraped along his scalp and Remus melted into her touch. His chin fell practically to his chest, and his body began to slump into the chair. He hadn't been so relaxed in years.  
  
He didn't know how much time had passed, but Remus knew when it was time enough. Her fingers slowed, returning to his shoulders to make him cringe as a few more knots were worked out of being. He heard her shift as she leaned down toward him ever so slightly, and there was the sensation of electric proximity between them. Remus jumped from his seat, but couldn't stop his shoulder shifting with a few pleasant pops to remind him of what he was throwing away.  
  
Tonks looked at him. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  
"No," Remus said abruptly. "No, it's not you. You just hit a tender spot, that's all. I'm sorry for jumping."  
  
But Remus didn't wait for her to respond. He pushed his chair back in, thanked Tonks for her work, and carried himself up the stairs. He disappeared somewhere in the maze of Number 12. In the kitchen, Tonks sighed, her gentle smile turned dark. She could still feel the texture of his shirt in her fingers, and her hands palms smelled of him. She made a pair of fists and then released them, only to repeat the action several more times.  
  
"Don't think I don't know when you're lying, Lupin," she whispered.


End file.
